Taking the Plunge

We had just sat down at a charming café in a quaint neighborhood of Paris. With the thrill of the previous week in Amsterdam waning, my wife and I discussed how we wanted to spend the Paris leg of our honeymoon over a glass of red. The ambiance was ripe for contemplation. The smell of garlic and butter wafted from the kitchen, our server kindly dismissed our crude attempt at French, and the afternoon sun shone lonely in the sky. Nothing seemed more important than the moment we were in. As the wine flowed and our conversation broadened, I asked, “What are your thoughts on me going to law school?” “Time would pass the same whether you go to law school or not,” she sagely replied. A bottle or so later, one thing was certain, we were taking the plunge.

For those who have not taken the plunge, attending law school begins about a year before you ever step foot into a classroom. This includes preparing for the LSAT, taking the LSAT, requesting transcripts, obtaining letters of recommendation, attending law school informational sessions, and filling out lengthy applications for all the schools you believe you have a chance at. Shortly after shaking the jetlag from the return trip, our journey began.

Knowing that I would continue working as a paralegal at the firm through law school, I only applied to schools in San Francisco. After accepting an offer to a four-year night program, I realized that I had not been in a classroom in years. Being 39 years old, I did not take a gap year between college and law school, I took a couple gap decades. This meant I would be competing with students fresh out of undergrad in a rather cutthroat setting considering my school’s grading curve was sharp and the bottom percentile of students risked being culled after the first year. In an attempt to quell the insecurities, I read books on how to prepare for law school and watched most of the movies that touched on the topic — Rounders being my favorite.

Learning to Learn (Again)

My first night of class was both exciting and frightening. As you may recall from the movie (or novel) The Paper Chase, the prospect of being cold-called to brief a case in front of the class is terrifying to say the least. For those who have never had the pleasure, a cold call occurs when the professor, using the Socratic method, calls your name and drills you on the specifics of a case. This method weeds out the unprepared and ensures reading assignments are completed by using embarrassment and shame as a motivator.

Since I worked in the daytime, I read all my cases the prior weekend. Taking the advice from a prep book, I color-coded the sections of the cases with highlighters: blue for issues, pink for holdings, green for facts, and yellow for analysis. The idea being that when drilled I would be able to quickly access the appropriate sections to respond with a semi-intelligent answer. This “technicolor” strategy also saved hours of class preparation by eliminating the task of writing full case briefs, which was crucial when working during law school.

I soon learned that there is no amount of preparation that eases the pain of your first cold call. Shortly into my first, a long agonizing and awkward pause occurred as I searched for the right colored section. This prompted a wave of panic. Then boom! I blacked out. To this day I have no recollection of what I said. Judging from the vacant looks on my classmates and professor’s faces, I likely missed the mark.

That first semester I spent considerable time learning how to learn again. Law school was much different than undergrad. Cramming the night before a test would not cut it. To prepare, I tried flashcards, taking copious notes, sparingly taking notes, rote memorization, outlining, and study groups. You name it, I tried it. I finished every test thinking I bombed it. The one I felt I “aced” ended up being the only one I bombed. I finally hit my stride sometime in the second semester. Well, I should say, I finally figured out a strategy that was compatible with my work schedule and marriage.

Upping the Ante

Just as I figured out the balance, COVID-19 hit, causing my law school to go online. The pandemic added some unsavory layers to the experience. First, my insecurities soared from “How am I going to pull this off?” to “How am I going to survive this?” Next, I quickly learned that I was not an online learner. After an hour of online lecture, I often found myself drifting off thinking about anything but the topic being discussed. Finally, the isolation aspect intensified everything in my marriage. For me, I did not have much free time to begin with and was used to being alone. However, I worried about my wife. Prior to the pandemic, she would meet friends for brunch while I stayed home to study. But now she was stuck in our small apartment with the city shut down and her husband neck deep in a casebook in the spare room. The isolation and fear of the unknown took its toll.

Life did not stop because I was in law school. After adjusting to the COVID curveball, we decided to up the ante and have our first child. My son was born midway through law school and shortly after finals. I took the following summer session off to help with the baby but continued to work. Although becoming a father absolutely erased any iota of free time I had, it inspired me to finish law school strong. I realized that I was not just opening the door to a new career for myself, but also opening the door for my son and his children. Most of the men in my family were ironworkers or general contractors; many did not complete high school. By finishing law school, I was in the keen position of altering the generational pattern of my family. My son’s inspiration coupled with my wife’s support carried me through the next two years.

Raising the Bar

Although graduation was a momentous occasion, it was difficult to fully enjoy it with the prospect of the California bar exam looming in the back of my mind. In order to pass the bar exam, you are told you must spend about three months, eight to twelve hours a day, preparing for the exam. With a statewide pass rate of 51% (65ish% for first timers), the prep schedule seemed reasonable.

Prior to starting bar prep, I needed to secure a quiet place to study. At this point in time, my son enjoyed running up and down the hallway and pounding on my home office door. When the other nanny-share baby joined in, it often sounded like a scene from Lord of the Flies, where at any second they would machete the door down, hog-tie me, and drag me out in victory. To save my skin, I rented a small doctor’s office two blocks from my flat. This move was key; the office was quiet, and my commute was less than five minutes.

Being well into my forties, I felt I only had one shot at this test. Also my son’s development began soaring at this time, and the thought of missing another three months of his early childhood kept me laser focused.

I buckled down. I started prep at 8am each morning using the prep course my school offered. I took an hour midday for lunch and a walk. During my walks I listened to an audio book of someone just reading legal rules, hoping to increase my retention through osmosis. The exam could potentially test on some 500 legal rules. The amount of information required to be memorized is absolutely overwhelming. Between 5 and 6pm, I’d head home to help with dinner and bathtime. After a few weeks, my son started to wait by the window to see me walk down the hill from my office. When I came into view, I could see him calling my name and blowing me kisses. This simple gesture became a great motivator for me. After dinner and bath, I generally spent another two hours taking practice quizzes or reviewing outlines.

I repeated this process every day for almost three months. I took Father’s Day off and I did a half day on Independence Day. During prep, I had good days and bad days. Some days crushing self-doubt overwhelmed me. Other days I felt invincible. Overall, bar prep was a very lonely and isolating experience, but it has to be that way. Unless you have a photographic memory, you need the time to program your brain. The only way to pass the exam is to put in the time. Within three months, I completed 93% of the prep course, took about 2,500 practice multiple choice questions, 86 practice essays, a full simulation exam, and nine practice performance tests. For me, it all clicked in the last weeks of prep.

Hitting the Bar

The exam arrived faster than I thought it would. I secured a hotel room at the testing center. The night prior to day one of the exam, I reviewed the outlines of the subjects that I thought the bar would test. I specifically memorized equitable lien and constructive trust thinking that Remedies would be ripe for the exam.

The next morning, a line of hundreds of exam takers wrapped around the hotel. Inside the exam room, anxiety built as the proctors took about thirty minutes to go over the formalities. Fifteen minutes into the exam I realized I was using the wrong rules for the first essay question. I remember thinking that I’m going to have to start over and rip through this essay since you only have 60 minutes per essay to finish on time. During the afternoon session, the fifth essay was Remedies, and sure enough, the third question dealt with equitable lien and constructive trust. Hell yeah! I thought. Also one of the characters in the performance test section had the same name as my son. It was a good omen and provided a nice boost to finish off the last hour and a half of day one.

The night before the second day I found a bar exam calculator on the internet and determined that as long as I performed similarly to my bar prep practice multiple choice scores, I’d have a good chance of passing the bar. I went into day two with the plan to check my watch every thirty minutes to make sure I was on pace to finish. I noticed a lot more empty seats on day two, and recall seeing people green with dread sitting in the corner on the ground in the lobby during lunch break. I stuck to my plan and finished the exam. Afterwards I did not feel I crushed it, but I did not feel I bombed it either — par for course, I suppose.

The Results

Three agonizing months later, the results were released at 6pm. Around 4pm my stomach started turning as the texts started rolling in. Since I completed the exam I relied heavily on Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, focusing on only what I could control. My wife, son, and a bottle of bubbly waited eagerly. At 6pm I logged into the portal. The past five years compressed into a single moment.

I passed! I instantly burst into tears. Elation ensued. All the self-doubt, uncertainty, and sacrifice instantly became worth it. My kitchen turned into a dance party with my wife and son. Confetti flew. Bottles popped. We did it. We did it together.